Love, Sex, and Severus Snape
by DemonsLullaby
Summary: oh, how Severus Snape can love and be loved. :3


Love, Sex, and Severus Snape

Yayz!! Finally a happy fanfic! I'm so excited to see how ya'll like it!

First 10 reviews get Snape shaped cookies!!

Enjoy 3 ;D

Hands. So simple, yet so…wondrous. A simple touch. A simple rub, a gentle wave. Cute actions. Nothing meant, holding another's, a hand shake, used to measure a man's integrity, finger intertwined to close a promise. Childish actions. Then the hands of a lover. A finger running down my chin. The quick undoing of buttons on my uniform. The clasp of the belt hitting the floor, after quick finger work. My hands grabbed, pushed over my head. Another pulls of the remnants of my uniform. My hands yearn to touch. To feel. To…anything. His fingers, fingers of the whitest marble, nimble, delicate, yet strong. His hands mapping my body. Grasping. Ravishing. Claming me as his own. The feel of his cold fingers on my nipples, the feel of the tweaks. The rough, but gentle scratches, made by the clear nails. The feel of his hands cupping my face. The sharp tilt of the fingers that leaves me gazing upwards. The feel only an adult caress can carry. The touch only he can carry out.

Eyes. Some say the most captivating look into another's soul. The colors, so beautiful. Blue. Brown. Gray. My own emerald green, that shimmer in the moonlight, or so he says. The most beautiful, an onyx, the deepest black. The darkest night. Mysterious, but captivating, inviting, drawing you in, no care if there is danger or not. The look, so trusting, but so unforgiving. The most confusing things about him. The simplest movements, small tokens of his affection. The uplifted corners, the afterthoughts of a gentle smile. The slightest hints of drowsiness after a day of first years. The lids flicker, closing, before abruptly opening again. He is adorable at those times. The there is his sadness, tears welling in the corners of his heavy laden eyes. The anger, the black burning red, like flames rising on oil. The look of utter boredom, a blank stare into nothingness. The everyday feelings portrayed through the dark, vast pools. The adult soul, poured out through those midnight skies, filled with longing. Longing to touch. To hold. To kiss. Passion burns brightly, red, rosy pink, flashing against the contrasting black, the need surrounding the pupils. The onyx gems searching. Looking. Enjoying. Eating my undressed body. My forest pools mirroring the longing, glazed with pleasure of things to come. It should be a crime for him to be able to pierce through mine like he does. The most direct path to show one's love. His, onyx, set on snow white marble.

Mouth. The tender skin, molded into thin lines. The dullest pink. The most sullen rose. The darkest red. The sweetest part of the face. His, a lonely mauve, soft and supple. His lips a slight contrast to my dull pink ones. The smoothest of actions. A gentle smile, corners upturned throw the sky. The delicate lines curved to the ground, an indication of my wrongdoing, punishment to come. The lines pursed in a thin streak, total hatred, directed at me only once in our lives. feather light kisses placed on my cheeks. Nose. Lips. A lover's kiss, heated. Passionate. Rough, pressed together, backed into the wall. No time for gentle ones to be graced upon or bodies. Crashed together, begging for entrance. Tongues exchange, dwelling in each other's mouths. The taste….amazing. My favorite food. Spicy, but sweet. Sour, yet salty. The perfect combination of flavors. My lips left puffy, rosy red, as he moves away to my body. His tongue rolls against my skin, leaving a path of scars, not to be washed away, but to show his love. Light kisses planted, tracing my curves. On my neck. A tender bite to my ear. A gasp is heard, I realized, to originate from me. The sounds that the mouth releases. A gentle whisper of love, a seductive thread of parse tongue, his name called over and over. The animalistic noises. Grunts. Groans. Moans. Screams of pleasure that send shivers down your spine, washing over you like a cool wave of release. High pitched moans, begging, pleading. Faster! Harder! The wanton sounds we issue. Heavy breathing. Panting. What we can put in our mouths, what we can suck. The swirl of a heated tongue. Panting causing vibrations. The beauty of the noises. The most versatile organ. The most skilled at using his mouth.

Touch. The feel of skin on skin. Shockwaves sent rolling through your veins. Blood rushing to your face, tinting you cheeks. Blood pounding through your body. A ghost of a finger slides across your chest. Heat explodes in your body, sweat shines from the heat. Your breath hitching in your throat. The fact that only this cold, white marble can release this heat, just by touching you tenderly, drives me wild. His hand glides lower. The touch of cold skin on my heated length. The feeling of the pressure, the pulling. The feeling as cold breath hits me, the feel of his lips, his tongue wrapped around it. The knowledge that he is the only one that touches me like this.

Emotion. Running high. Running hard. Shared by both. The feeling of happiness, like floating on a cloud, the elation, the feeling you could do anything. Love. My attraction to this man. The goddess of love couldn't imagine the force of this love. The feeling of anger. Flames. Rise from within our souls to proclaim the source. The feeling of loneliness, when it seems that this black haired snake has no more use for me. The walls he sets up and pushes me out. The feeling of lust, of desire. The burning desire, my wanting to be bullied, molded into a love toy for his use. To want him all around and in me. The feeling of security as he holds my hands, holds my body close. The feeling of want. The want to be taken by this black snake, the want to be loved by him as well. The want for him to stand by your side in this dark war we fight. The want to feel your skin on mine as our naked bodies collide. The want to feel this same cascade of heat I feel every time I want you. The feeling that you are the only one I feel for.

Body. The tangled mess of limbs. They dance gracefully, in the song of our love. Strong arms holding me, embracing me in a gentle hug. A hand holding my own., leading me to whichever way he mat go. The carefree ruffle of my raven hair, my fingers bridging a strand of his black hair. The legs. Such powerful and willing things. Strong enough to carry me home after one to many drinks. My legs, strong enough to pull him nearer, when my hands cannot, to put more of him in me. Arms. Wrapping his arms around my heated body. Holding me as he begins. Hands, touching, grabbing, ravishing me. Eyes, his on me as he pushes in, pulls out. The look and feel of his scarred skin, little, big, old, and new. My light tan fingers running across, tracing everyone. Sand touches white stone. Knowing that his body is mine, and that mine is his with all my heart.

Sex. The art of appreciating another's body, inside and out. The proof of the bond of love between lovers, two souls blended into one. It is graceful at times, a beautiful dance, a pair, passionate, heated, the intertwined bodies pressed together. A mixture of body, emotion, and touch. Tender caresses, fingers gently scraping my skin, small scratch marks left behind. Cupping my hips tenderly, lifting me gently on the bed, as if I am a precious glass doll, him, afraid to break. The suspense he leaves me in, his eyes reflect my longing, as he undresses, one cloth at a time. Shedding the unneeded layers. They fall to the floor like snow. The creak of the bed as he climbs on top of my naked body. His bare flesh shining in the candle light of his dungeon lodgings, the dull orange the candles glow. The dance of the flames reflected onto white marble, a shadowy dance. The heated kisses, the ravishing of tongues, tasting, licking. The feather light touches ghosting over my skin, up my legs. The way his fingers circle my navel, playing with the little curls that grow lower. The way his calloused fingers draw intricate patterns on my flesh, the shivers sent down my spine. The erotic sensation of his tongue, liking a hot trail all over my body. The way my body arches into his sweet touch. How my body fits perfectly to the curves of his. The way I gasp and moan at every touch. The way I squirm underneath his body, wishing for more. The feel of his heated breath washing over me, the way it makes my skin crawl with delight. The way he teases me, leaving me begging for more. The feel of his hands pulling. Rubbing. Petting below my navel. The knowledge of him touching me like this. The pressure that builds inside of my body, growing, growing. The explosion. My scream pierces the silent air like a rocket. My head thrown back in shear bliss, still begging for more. My face, reddening, like the sunset in the October sky. The way my legs open involuntarily, spread, so he can have his way with me. The shining liquid, fingers coated thickly with the substance. I the surprised gasp I release as he circles my entrance. The deep string of parse tongue, the seductive whisper between our love found silence, as the finger slips in. he smirks at the high pitched moan I release. Another finger enters. They start to move, caressing the muscle. The nerve is hit by the third finger as it slides in to join the others. My body arches completely off the bed, my hands grab his forearms, the clutch of my fingers draw blood. The groan as he removes all three, and I lower my self back onto the bed. The groan replaced by a moan of lust as I watch him slick himself, as to not to hurt me. The whine of want as he pushes in too slowly for my liking. The smirk on that beautiful face as I grab him with my legs, while my arms cannot, and push myself onto him. The throaty groan he releases as he feels himself being surrounded by me. The moan I throw out as he pulls back out, and rams back in. I scream. Shout. Beg. Beg for more. Beg for it harder. Beg for it faster. Then, I get agitated. Impatient. Needy. I grab his shoulders, push him back, down onto the bed. I straddle his hips. I push down, I hit that spot, I gasp, moan out into the silence. I grasp his arms harder, drawing blood again, littering his body with more scars. I rise up, I slam back down. My release draws neat, the pressure builds inside me. The heat overwhelms my, I stop to remember to breath. He bucks his hips up, hitting me just right. And my need releases itself, gleaming on his chest. But we are not done, he has yet to find release. He kisses me fiercely, and I suddenly find my face in the pillows. I feel his hands spread my legs apart once more, the heat resurfaces in my body, the blush returning to my cheeks. I feel his breath over my arse, his feather like kisses trailing up my thigh. He gets ready, he pushes in. my scream of pleasure is muffled by the pillows. Out. He slams back in, slowly pulling out, increasing my desire, teasing me. If he wasn't shagging me so _well_, I'd kill him for teasing. He rams in once more, again, again, again. Harder! I scream. Faster! I moan. I feel him fill me up, just as I find my release. The scream echoes in the silence, not broken except for panting, and gasps for air. The knowledge that he is the only one that can make me scream.

Sleep. The greatest thing in the world, after sex with Severus Snape, of course. The relaxation we feel as we lay down next to our lover. The exhaustion, the need to replenish our energy. The cozy feeling as I snuggle up against his chest, the feeling of being loved. The warmth of his body, of his breath, as he holds me close. The tender kisses he plants on my scar as we drift off to sleep. As my eyes close, I see his smile, his love, and the knowledge that we will always be together, and I drift off into a dreamless sleep.

Severus Tobias Snape. Perfect.


End file.
